Unloved
by MemoriesFade
Summary: For the rest of their marriage, he knew he would have to be content with the other man in the relationship. But he loved her.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Harry Potter Universe.

All mistakes are my own as this was not beta'd.

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Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and slung the broom over his shoulders, the chill night air hitting his damp skin, causing goosebumps to arise on his skin. He walked the familiar path from his Quidditch pitch to the back door that led to the kitchen, stopping to lock his broom away in the cupboard, using various protection spells. He didn't like to take chances when it came to his broom.

He opened the door to his kitchen, smiling when he saw that his wife had left dinner out for him, his favorite, shepherd's pie. He left his shoes by the door, hanging his robes on the hook, and grabbed a bottle of Butterbeer from the refrigerator before taking the plate into the living room to eat and listen to the Wizarding Wireless. He knew his wife was waiting up for him, as per usual, but he also knew that she liked her few minutes of peace alone in bed before he came up. They had long since perfected the art of going to bed.

After finishing dinner and locking up the house, he made his way upstairs, stopping in his son's room to place a kiss on his head. He closed the door quietly behind him as he left the room and went into his own bedroom where he found his wife, in one of her dove gray nightgowns, in bed, a magazine in hand, worrying her lower lip. He shook his head and moved to the bathroom to take a short shower.

By the time he got out, her magazine was on the table, and she was staring at him, her arms folded on her lap. He knew her look well, downcast eyes, pensive expression, and the twiddling of her thumbs. She was thinking of someone, and it wasn't him. He knew who it was, always had. The man who would always be a part of their marriage, whether Harry liked it or not.

He knew that as he crawled into bed beside her naked, and she turned to him, a small spark in her eyes, she was not thinking of him. When she dimmed the lights in the room and straddled him, the grin on her face wasn't for him. When her hips ground against him, it wasn't his body that she was on top of. It wasn't his body that she was using for her pleasure. No, Harry knew she hadn't done that since before they got engaged.

The nightgown she wore wasn't for his benefit. She didn't care if he appreciated the low cut neckline or the sheer material. All she cared about was the color, the color that signified _him_. Harry knew why her lingerie drawer was filled with dove gray nightgowns, emerald green corsets, and black, sheer stockings. He was the only one to see her in it, but it wasn't meant for him.

She leaned down and kissed him, her red hair tickling his face as she moved her soft lips against his. His hands moved of their own volition to cup her face, moving up her body, skimming her sides as he did. A muffled sound came out of her lips, and she pulled away, her hands bypassing his to lift the hem of her nightgown and remove it, tossing it across the room. Her scanty lace knickers went next, leaving her completely naked and open to him.

But there were no soft touches. She took him roughly, their bodies moving together in a practiced rhythm. Her nails scored against his chest, and he knew in the morning there would be red lines marring his chest. But no matter how violent she got, no matter how many bruises he had, or her for that matter, he didn't mind. It was the only way he knew that he was really there for the act, that she was there.

Because when he looked into her eyes, he knew that she didn't see him. His black hair, in her eyes, was blond. His eyes were the same dove gray of the nightgowns she wore or the dress she wore on their second anniversary. It wasn't his face that she saw but rather the face of his school nemesis. When he was inside of her, it wasn't really him that she felt.

And when they reached their peak, the whispered name that came from her mouth was, "Draco."

When her body collapsed against his, it wasn't his arms that wrapped around her body, holding her as her body shuddered in silent tears, although she didn't know he knew she was crying. Harry ran his down her spine, delighting in her small shiver. Because he knew that even if she was imagining someone else, it was him that got this physical reaction.

He flipped her over, and she closed her eyes, arching into him as her body came to life again, a sheen of sweat spreading across her torso. He leaned down, moving slowly in and out of her, his lips attaching to the spot just below her ear. He knew she liked this, not because it felt good, but because she didn't have to look at him. And when her hands gripped his hair as her hips lifted off the bed to meet his thrust, she pretended that it was silky, blond strands of hair, not black, messy hair.

She made soft mewling sounds when his coarse hands moved up her stomach to grasp her breast, his thumb flicking across her nipple. He knew that she was mentally replacing his hands with smoother ones, longer fingers. Harry knew that Malfoy's hands weren't rough like his because he shook his hand at the last Ministry Ball, the night Ginny wore the low cut, emerald gown, which she said she chose for his eyes, but Harry knew that it was because green was Malfoy's favorite color.

He wanted to touch his lips against hers but didn't. It would only spoil the night for her. Through his peripheral vision, he could see her eyes closed, a look of pure bliss on her face. He imagined she was drifting off to a different time, a time when she had wrapped her legs around Malfoy and they had ridden the waves of ecstasy together.

Their bodies picked up momentum, and she urged him on. As he eased off the bed to hover above her, he could see her squeeze her eyes tighter together, and he sped up his motions, knowing she would lose her pleasure if he didn't. And with one flick of his finger where their bodies met, her body flew off the bed and a slew of words left her mouth, some he couldn't discern. But he heard her clearly when 'Draco' rang through the room, and he rolled off her, shutting his own eyes.

He felt the bed shift as she got up and went to the bathroom to shower as she usually did. Once in a while, she didn't. But since the last Ministry Ball, when she danced with Malfoy, their colors blending together, red and blond intertwining on the dance floor, he noticed she spent more time in the shower, and her sobs were louder, more heartbroken.

She had seen Malfoy dancing with his wife and asked if they could leave. Harry didn't mind, and he had made his excuses and departed with his wife. That night, after the ball, when they made love, she called out Malfoy's name three times in succession, something she did after seeing him. And the next morning, he had more bruises than she did, scratches and marks that he never healed.

The bathroom door opened, and she stood there, hair wet, wearing a set of green flannel pajamas. She twisted her fingers in her hand, her body leaning against the doorway, her face almost frightened. She was waiting for him to respond to what she said in bed, but he never did, he wouldn't. He lifted the covers and beckoned her over.

"Come to bed, love," he murmured.

"Do you love me?" she asked, shuffling under the covers.

"Always," he replied, pulling her clothed body against his own sweaty body. He kissed her cheek. "Even if you'll always love him."

"I'm sorry," she said, tears forming in her eyes as she rolled over and gave him a chaste kiss. "I tried."

"I know," Harry said resignedly. "Go to bed. We have James' Little League Quidditch match tomorrow."

Later that night, after she thought he was sound asleep, he felt the bed shift again. He opened his eyes and watched her move across the room to the writing desk. She sat there for an hour and scribbled words on a parchment before getting up and tossing it into the dying embers of the fire. Harry knew that when he woke up, he could always remake the letter from the ashes. But he'd done it twice already. He knew the letter would read:

_Draco,_

_I miss you, love. We'll be together again one day._

_Love,_

_Ginny

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**Aerileigh's Soundtrack Challenge I:**

The only rules are as follows:

1. Must be inspired by the following piece of music: Regina Spektor - "Samson"

(You can define "inspired by" however you choose. Whether it's simply the chord progression or a downright literal interpretation of the lyrics* is up to you - just don't break rule 4)

2. Must ship Draco/Ginny

3. Must be a one-shot. No length constraints, but it can't be chaptered.

4. Must NOT be a song fic.

This is to be an open challenge; there is no deadline. I'll eventually pick another song (of a very different sort) and post a second challenge (perhaps in a month or six), but this challenge won't close.


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